


The Object of Longing

by dicks



Series: Stray Capacitance [2]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: 1859, 8059, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicks/pseuds/dicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takeshi’s life wasn’t always about Hayato.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Object of Longing

Takeshi had thought about it countless of times.  
  
When it happened, they would be lying on the bed, slowly taking each other’s clothes off, drinking in each other’s sight before tasting each other’s skin. When it happened, Hayato would kiss him hungrily, biting his lips before trailing his tongue on his jaw and then Takeshi would break, groaning and clenching his teeth with incredible wants and needs because that was all he needed- Hayato. It was always about Hayato. And when they fucked, Hayato would be spread open, vulnerable and pliant under Takeshi’s touch, and they would be moaning and biting and showering each other with open-mouthed kisses — and it would be perfect.   
  
But then it happened. They were intoxicated, stumbling in the dark - Hayato tripped over something, then fell unceremoniously on the floor and Takeshi laughed and his pants were stuck on his ankles because he had forgotten to take off his shoes beforehand, but he pulled Hayato up from the floor before they both stumbled onto the bed, tangled between the sheets. And it happened so fast, ruthless and unexpected, that Takeshi wasn’t even prepared for the sudden tightness as he slid inside Hayato so he rocked slowly, deeply because he wanted to relish the overwhelming but insanely wonderful sensation until Hayato loud-mouthed and demanded, _Godamnit, can’t you go any faster you dumb idiot-_ _  
_  
Still, it was kind of perfect.  
  
-  
  
Takeshi’s life wasn’t always about Hayato.  
  
Before it was about Hayato, Takeshi’s life was about hitting a homerun and making his old man proud. Before it was about Hayato, his life was about having fun with his friends and playing the games of death. But then that was _before_ it was about Hayato.  
  
Takeshi’s life certainly was not always about Hayato.  
  
When he was eighteen, at the peak of his puberty, he even went out with Haru for a while - Hayato tightlipped, eyes hidden underneath the curtains of his overgrown bangs, _great, great, now both of you idiots can spend time being fucking stupid with each other_ \- five months, it didn’t even last that long, it didn’t even last long enough to make it into something solid, not necessarily— not when Haru was still pining over Tsuna even after those painstaking years; not necessarily when Takeshi spending more time watching Hayato watching _them_ and thinking what had went wrong because all they seemed to be was drifting apart.  
  
-  
  
It was in Tsuna’s office, big and spacious with the smells of expensive wood, that he found the three of them bending down over some paper works on the table deep in a discussion. The head of Vongola looked up; smiling in greeting and Takeshi smiled back a toothy smile, a little too bright and maybe a little too careless until his eyes caught another set of cloudy green eyes, holding him with his gaze for a still moment.  
  
“Hey—” Takeshi started, and then he paused, heart pounding crazily in his ears. He could still feel the warmth of Hayato’s back against his chest. He remembered the way Hayato’s face twisted blissfully when he came and he came hard on the sheets. Takeshi swallowed; grinning, slightly embarrassed - and then he chuckled.   
  
Glaring with killing intent, Hayato muttered, “Moron. What took you so long?” But there were hints of red staining his cheeks.   
  
Takeshi laughed harder and he thought maybe it was all right; maybe it _was_ going to be all right because Hayato was still glaring at him, because Hayato was scowling at him, red-face and slightly frustrated and Takeshi thought maybe this was how love suppose to felt like, bittersweet and a little heartbreaking.  
  
He hadn’t failed to notice the stiffness of Kyouya’s back since he entered the room.  
  
-  
  
His thrusts were slow and deliberate, he bit the pale shoulder underneath him, a little harder than he intended to, then he kissed the reddening skin once, and then twice as an apology.   
  
“Yamamoto— t-this is—”  
  
"I know, I know,” voice cracking, “—this won’t change a thing between us,” because it was easier that way, convenient for Takeshi to ignore the stabbing pain on his chest and focus on the way Hayato tasted on his tongue instead as he lapped the skin just below the collarbone; and then he increased the pace, pounding, pounding wildly into the writhing body underneath his, until they both were about to be broken. In and out.  
  
“Stay with me.” Takeshi said afterwards, burying his nose between Hayato’s sweaty hair and Hayato looked up, searching his face, trying to read between the lines. Takeshi wasn’t good in speaking in metaphors so he had said what he wanted to say, and it was all up to Hayato on how he would take it - but he seemed to have forgotten that Hayato wouldn’t be Hayato if he was predictable - and then Hayato climbed on top of him until he was straddling both of his legs; with one of his hands sneaking between Takeshi’s thighs, probing the entrance, he said, “I’ll stay for the night.”  
  
Takeshi squeezed his eyes at the burning sensation and with a bleeding thought that perhaps having nothing _with_ Hayato was a lot better than having nothing _without_ Hayato and—  
  
—he moaned.  
  
It was enough for Takeshi, at least for now.   
  
-  
  
One week later, he was assigned for a mission— his first mission with Kyouya after their last failed mission eight months ago.  
  
The thing was, Takeshi wasn’t used to being partnered with someone other than Hayato but Hayato was in Palermo, engaged in some business for Tsuna and Takeshi wasn’t good in negotiations either, so Kyouya was sent along as a backup.  
  
They didn’t speak as they left Vongola base, they didn’t speak during the long journey on the flight— except for the occasional nods and grunts and basic body language, neither of them felt compelled to talk. They didn’t exchange a word even as they reached for their weapons, tucking them safely under their suits, it was only as they slid out from their rented car and walking towards the Licavoli clan’s compound that Kyouya turned to him with eyes like a raging storm and said, “Stay out of my way herbivore, and I’ll be out of yours.”  
  
But Takeshi didn’t even flinch, he glanced sideways and said, “Of course,” and then he thought briefly about the one time Hayato stayed over, when he was too drained to leave, he slept with his head tuck under the crook of Takeshi’s neck, lips on the shoulder blade, breathing was hot and damp and Takeshi’s blinding comprehension that this was what he was longing for; being together without really _being_ them. There was no pretense, no guns and blood and the smell of burning flesh - just like back then before they were complicated - and lying in each other’s arms just by simply _being_ \- and Takeshi even remembered the next day, he couldn’t even sleep on the bed without getting aroused because all he could think of was Hayato panting and gasping, pinned to the mattress, and how much he longed for that moment to be, all over again.  
  
Maybe he had caught it from Kyouya, maybe it had always been there, buried deep in the quiet depth of his heart but Takeshi felt it nevertheless - the distinct twinge of resentment, except he wasn’t sure whether it was towards Kyouya or himself.  
  
-  
  
“You’re beautiful, Gokudera,” Takeshi said one day in a between meetings break, as he leaned against the balcony. And to his surprise Hayato laughed, and laughed, and laughed the deep throaty laugh, the kind of laugh that he normally reserved for Tsuna, and then the laughter died as abruptly as it had come. Sober, Hayato tilted his head, hair swept by the wind, exposing his neck. There was a bite mark peeking from above his shirt collar that was _not_ from Takeshi.   
  
“What an idiot,’ Hayato said, amused, shaking his head and then taking a long painfully drag from his cigarette. “It would be a lot easier if you’d have hated me.”   
  
At twenty-six, Takeshi thought, he had known Hayato for almost half of his life and they had spent the last five years running in circles. He remembered being twenty- wild and restless, being tired of waking up on a stranger’s bed, being tired of watching from the sidelines and being tired of being alone when all he could do was reach and Takeshi assessed how sad it was to spend a long interval without realizing that— and suddenly he felt like laughing too, and so he laughed, refused to think about the bite mark because his heart was full of something that was terrifyingly big, so he said, “And why would I want to do that?”   
  
Hayato responded with a quirk of an eyebrow.  
  
-  
  
“You expect too damn much.” Hayato said for the countless time while tucking his crumpled red shirt inside his pants. His recently-cut hair barely passed the collar of his shirt and Takeshi mourned over the fact that he had loved seeing the shorter guy in a ponytail.  
  
“I can’t help it.” Takeshi replied, climbing off the bed, naked and achingly aroused.  
  
“And fuck, you’re still fucking hard.” Green eyes widened ridiculously with disbelief.  
  
“I can’t help _that_ either,” grinning, he caught Hayato’s wrists and held them still in his grasp.   
  
“Careful, smiling bastard,” Hayato warned but lacking his usual fit, and tugging at his hands lightly, “—everyone would’ve started to wonder where we were off to.”  
  
“I don’t care,” he said, grinding his erection against Hayato’s crotch. “I don’t care if everyone knows,” he muttered, before marking the pale slender neck with his own teeth.   
  
It was just a matter of time.  
  
-


End file.
